


Patchwork and Pillows

by Krapfire



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen, Pack Street Fanverse, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 14:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krapfire/pseuds/Krapfire
Summary: Charlie has returned home empty-handed after failing a job. Let's see what happens afterwards.





	Patchwork and Pillows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pack Street](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141837) by [TGWeaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGWeaver/pseuds/TGWeaver). 

> I tried to make this story so that it could be believable enough to fit as one of the Pack Street chapters, told in Charlie's perspective. Please enjoy your reading. Thanks.

Sighing as I finally reach the entrance to our apartment building, I glance back at the sky, starting to brighten as dawn approaches. Tonight could’ve gone better. But for now, the job remains unfinished.

As I enter the lobby, Al clicks off the TV and rises from the couch, turning towards the stairway. “Heading to the den, boss?” I call out to the Alpha.

“Yeah,” he drones before he yawns, stretching out his huge jaw. “G' night, Charlie.” I nod politely as he trundles up the stairs, oblivious to my current situation. Very well. My plans tonight have not gone very well, and right now it’s best to rest and recuperate before another attempt, should another opportunity arise. I wonder if my roommate cooked anything tasty tonight.

Marty should be getting ready for work by now. I press an ear to our door. Not much noise in there. I raise a paw and tap my knuckles on our door a few times.

“Gimme a moment here,” he mumbles from inside. The squeak of a faucet emanates from our home, followed by splashing. The stoat must have just finished his daily dose of caffeine and started rinsing his mug. I take a slow deep breath and exhale just as slowly, suppressing my impatience for now. How could anyone tolerate needing to knock?

As I start to pick dust and debris from the night’s events out of my tail fur to make waiting more bearable, creaking echoes from further down the hall. Turning my gaze towards Remmy’s door, I spot a black wolf wearing a tank top and jeans exiting the sheep’s apartment, chuckling a bit. “Uh huh. See ya later, yarn ball.” What had Betty been doing in there? They say their goodbyes before she starts to walk in my direction towards the stairs. Interesting. My curiosity will have to wait, though.

Marty needs to hurry up. I rest my forehead on the wood in front of me and slam my palm into it with a loud WHAP. “DAMMIT!” Marty screams. “ I said GIMME A MOMENT!” As the pitter-patter of his tiny feet slowly approaches, I realize Betty has stopped right beside me, leaning against the wall, the towering black wolf glaring down at me, freezing me in place while she studies the vixen in front of her. Her intimidating eyes move from my slumped shoulders to the hole in the knee of my slacks, then to the dirt on the carpet I’ve tracked in.

Finally, her eyes move back up to stare directly at mine. “When did you learn to knock?” she grunts out the question as she places a cigarette into her maw without breaking eye contact. Despite my attempts to stay relaxed, my paws start sweating as my fur bristles. Though I would like to avoid her interrogation, I see no good alternative to answering the beta’s inquiries.

“Remmy insisted it is the polite way to request entrance,” I answer in the most unpanicked voice I can manage. Betty shows no reaction, even as Marty releases the locks and opens the door to let me in. His baggy eyes shift between Betty and me a few times before anything else happens. Betty’s smoke remains unlit. What happened to her lighter?

“You coming in or what?” Marty blurts out. Again, Betty shows no reaction.

“Roll up your sleeves, Charlie.” That’s an order from the beta. Sometimes I forget her perceptiveness almost rivals my own. She certainly suspects something. I look to Marty, confusion obvious on his face. For a few seconds, I try to think of something to say, something to do. “Do you want me to call Al?” The jig is up. Once again, I sigh a deep, calming breath and carefully roll up the right sleeve of my baggy sweater to reveal the crimson-stained towel tied around my forearm and paw. Betty leans forward to get a closer view, her face scrunching up into a grimace, and Marty’s eyes widen, completely forgetting their tired state seconds ago.

“Holy _ SHIT _!” he exclaims as he rushes to my side, quickly taking hold of my arm to examine it. “What the fuck happened to you, Charlie?” I wince from the worried, panicked tone of his voice. Marty startles a bit when he notices. “Ah shit. Sorry. How much does it hurt?” I don’t mind his paws. His grip as he caresses my mangled limb is actually surprisingly gentle. The little bits of pressure that I feel from him only make me more at ease.

“That fence should have held at least five times my weight. Instead it unraveled and ruined my second-favorite jacket,” I explain. I regret having to toss it into Happy Harry’s barrel of “Happy Fire”, but any shred of material torn off could have been traced back to the source. At least Harry seemed to appreciate the extra fuel. Hopefully, nobody will notice the fur and blood I left behind before tomorrow’s expected rain can wash them away.

I shift my attention back to Betty who is now sniffing at my wounds. “At least you stopped the bleeding,” she says. “Is anyone gonna come looking for you?” That question I had expected.

My reply comes quick and easy. “I doubt it. I’ve done nothing legally questionable tonight before I had to bail.” It had been quite a disappointment, really. I’ve never had a job end so quickly and poorly prior to this.

“Can’t believe you sprayed it with that much Musk Mask. Must have stung like hell, right?” Betty grumbles, shaking her head in disapproval. “How about we get you some proper medical care instead of your combat medic shit. Dumping alcohol on it before fleeing the scene is just a short-term fix.” She’s right.

Upon hearing those words, Marty starts tugging me into our apartment. “Alright, come sit inside. I’ll call someone to cover my shift at the library,” Why would he want to miss work for me? If I could profit from sitting at a desk and filing paperwork… Actually, I’d probably want to avoid work too. Just so I don’t die from boredom.

Still, he should not have to call off a legitimate job for me. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I mutter when he pushes me onto the couch along with a quilt. “It’s just skin-deep. I’ll manage just fine alone.” I hope it’s enough to convince him.

“Like _ hell _ you will! You tore up your arm ** _ALONE_ **!” I release a small huff of frustration when he hands me a glass of water and some painkiller. “You need me more than the library does right now, and you know it.” I sip from the glass and swallow the pill as he scrolls through his phone’s work contacts. Fine. I don’t want to be alone anyway. I set the glass onto the ground and lean back on the couch.

My eyes staring at the ceiling, I realize my body is now devoid of energy, exhaustion having taken over as soon as I started to rest. I suppose I wouldn’t mind having Marty look after me for a short while, possibly bringing me breakfast in bed, or couch in this case. I’d settle for some pancakes or a bug omelette right now.

Betty interrupts my imagination as she exits my room with my case of first aid supplies. Apparently, she found some of my surgical equipment as well, but I’m fairly certain they are unneeded for my current condition. She places a paw on Marty’s phone and stops his search for a replacement. “Marty, it’s fine. Go finish readying for work. She won’t bleed out while I’m here.”

“You’ll take care of her?” I just listen in as Betty convinces Marty to let her play doctor and babysitter. I’d argue that the beta shouldn’t waste her valuable time on me if I weren’t so tired. Carefully, I pull my sweater off me and toss it behind the couch. I shift around to lie on my left side, burying myself in the quilt and the couch's overstuffed throw pillows, though my aches refuse to let me sleep.

A moment passes, and soon Betty peels the quilt off me. It seems that she dragged a chair here so that she can treat me right on the couch. “Give me your arm, Charlie,” she says with a look of concern. Better just to comply for now. I push myself into a sitting position and gingerly unwrap the towel on my arm, revealing dried blood where fur has been scratched off.

When Betty tears open a package of antiseptic cleansing wipes, I stay still as I can so that she can press the stinging fabric into my injuries. Teeth gritted and lips curled, I make no noise as she cleans off the dirt and filth that had embedded itself into my skin. As she starts rewrapping my arm with fresh, clean bandages, my ears perk up when Marty emerges from his room, the stoat dragging a duffel bag behind him before he sets it against a wall and climbs onto the couch to check our progress.

"Cripes, Charlie. How tall was this fence you were climbing?" Betty asks as she finishes patching me up.

"I never claimed to have climbed it,” I mutter. “It collapsed onto me."

"Uuughhh. You're impossible," Marty groans, placing a paw to his brow and shaking his head, and I can’t help but smirk while Betty just rolls her eyes, though I do make out a hint of a smile on her cheeks. As the wolf returns my first aid kit to my room, Marty’s paw digs into his pants pocket and comes out clutching his keys. He slides one out of the chain and presses it into my undamaged paw. "I’m pretty sure you can’t pick locks with only one paw, so take this. I don't know what you did with the spare apartment key, but this one is mine, so you better not melt it down or anything, okay?"

“Roger that," I respond. "Should I require any scrap metal, the doorknobs should suffice.” A cough of laughter escapes from him. I’m glad he’s taking my humor less seriously these days.

When Betty returns, Marty hops back onto the floor and grabs his duffel bag. “Alright, I gotta get going. Work’s waiting for me. Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back,” he says on his way to the front door. He stops when he cracks it open, hesitation causing him to peer back at me once more, his face contorted with guilt as if he were abandoning a dying friend, as if I’ll die as soon as he exits door.

That’s the exact reason I had hidden my wounds. He shouldn’t be stressing over this. “I’ll be fine, Marty,” I assure him. “Betty’s here with me. You don’t need to worry.” After all, this is my fault; my own mistakes are what caused my injuries.

He looks to Betty since apparently, my words alone are not enough to convince him. “I’ll stay until ten, at least,” she tells him. He nods and closes the door, leaving me alone with the pack’s beta.

“So…” I say, turning towards Betty. I don’t want her just waiting and getting bored. “Do you like pancakes?”

* * *

Eventually I stop lounging on the couch to sit at the dining table as Betty sets down a plate of dark pancakes in front of me. Looks like she managed to light her cigarette in the kitchen. “They’re a bit overcooked,” she mutters. “Your stove’s heat settings are more powerful than mine.”

“I’ve installed some auxiliary parts that Harry had recommended,” I say. “The blame is mine for neglecting to inform you of the upgrades first.”

Tossing her depleted cigarette butt into an empty trash bin, Betty scoffs, glancing back at me with an incredulous look. “Happy Harry? That maniac?” Shaking her head, she shrugs and hauls her own taller stack of pancakes to the table, sitting beside me. I dump a large amount of syrup onto my plate, licking my lips, and Betty pours some almond milk for us both. We start to eat, though I struggle somewhat with getting the pancakes into bite-sized chunks with only one functional paw.

A few minutes later, our plates are significantly emptier. “I’m glad I don’t need to spoon-feed you,” Betty jokes as she takes another huge bite. “Even the alpha doesn’t get that kind of royal treatment.”

“I’ll manage just fine,” I reply, chewing with my mouth full. This is already much better than I deserve. “Your time and efforts are very appreciated, Betty. You will be compensated accordingly.”

“There’s no need for that,” she says, swallowing the rest of her food. “I’m satisfied enough with the all-you-can-eat pancake buffet here.”

“Seriously, if you need any favors, just let me know,” I insist.

“Well, if you could get another one of those large pillows…”

“Noted.” Slipping off my chair, I head to the couch to snatch up a pillow as large as my whole body, clutching it to the bare fur on my chest with my good arm. “I’ve considered just leaving twenty kilograms of salmon in your fridge, but I see no reason to exert so much effort if you would be satisfied enough by some soft fluff to cuddle.” I turn to face Betty as she opens a pack of smokes from her pocket. “Or maybe you just need a new weapon for your next slumber party?”

I toss her the pillow, expecting her to catch it easily. Instead, it knocks the cigarettes out of her paws and lands on the floor. I gulp, opening my mouth to utter an apology, but Betty speaks first.

“Oh, you’ll regret challenging me like that,” she says with a wicked grin, plucking one of the scattered cigarettes off the dining table and placing it into her maw. Suddenly, she picks the pillow off the floor and flicks it back at me like a frisbee. As soon as I remove the fluff from my face, she snaps her muzzle right in front of me, making me fall backward onto the couch in surprise. “I’ve never _ ever _lost a pillow fight in my life.” Nice to see her in a more playful mood.

“Well, I imagine your previous challengers had never employed proper tactics,” I quip back.

“Hah!” she barks out a laugh, sitting on the chair in front of the couch. “No strategy you come up with is gonna overpower a wolf with your arm like that.” She jabs me in the side with a finger, and I wince, a short whimper leaving my throat. And her playful demeanor is gone. “Hiding any more injuries?” Betty asks, her arms crossed.

“No. Nothing more than bruises here.” Betty, please.

“Should I believe you? How big is this bruise?” She examines my waist, squinting to peer through my fur.

“It only reaches down to my hip,” I tell her. “I’m fine.”

“I still gotta check for myself,” she says, standing up quickly, knocking over her chair, clattering against the ground, and I scoot sideways to the other end of the couch while she advances towards me.

“But it’s cold!” I make up an excuse. Struggling while she grabs at my slacks, I accidentally bump my bandaged wrist into the armrest. “Ow! Betty, stop!” She pins me with a single paw to my back.

“Cold? Really? You weren’t even wearing a shirt,” she says as I wriggle under her weight. “Hold still, Charlie!”

“This is unnecessary!" I shout as my face is pressed into a pillow. Then, the front door flies open, hitting the doorstop with a loud _ boing _. Our heads turn to the sheep gawking at us from the doorway, brandishing an umbrella in his hooves.

“Uh… I, um. Is-is this some pack dominance display … thing?” And there's Remmy with his perfect articulation and impeccable timing. Might as well make use of his presence.

“That’s right," I tell him. "The beta wolf here will now proceed to ravage this defenseless vixen's supple body while the omega watches.” Betty’s cigarette falls to the floor as her jaw drops, her eyes widening as realization hits her like a cheese slice to the face. Her cheeks turn bright red under her fur.

She looks back to me, face down and topless with my pants halfway off. “No. No, that’s-- This isn’t what it looks like!” Betty explains, releasing me to approach Remmy. His eyes flitter around the room, to Betty’s cigarettes, to the overturned chair. And to my tail. While he sloppily places the umbrella back into the rack from where it came, I kick my pants off and grab my plate of pancakes from the dining table.

“I heard, uhh-- There-- There was a lot of noise,” the sheep stutters out as I return to the couch to eat and observe from a more comfortable position. “I thought, umm, burglars.” _ D__éjà _ _ vu _, Remmy?

I take a bite as he extracts a lighter from a shorts pocket with his clumsy hooves. “You forgot this.” He passes it to Betty while he backs out into the hall.

“Yeah thanks Remmy bye,” she quickly blurts as she starts to close the door.

“W-wait!” Remmy interrupts. “Are we still on for later?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. See ya.” The door clicks shut, but not before Remmy glances to me one last time as I finish the rest of my meal. 

Turning around to face me, Betty lets out a low growl of frustration, and my heart starts thumping in my chest. I tense up when she stomps towards me, her lips curled up to reveal her large fangs, gleaming in the dim light of the living room. I stay completely petrified on the couch with my muzzle pointed to the ceiling as she snatches the empty plate from my paws and marches into the kitchen.

I wrap myself in the quilt when I’m able to breathe again. My vision blurs, and my eyelids start to feel heavy as manhole covers. Despite its short duration, the tension of that moment seems to have drained the last of my energy.

A minute later, Betty returns with a small, tied-up plastic bag filled with ice, no sign of her anger remaining. “For your bruises,” she mutters, sitting beside me on the couch, handing me the makeshift ice pack. “Sorry about earlier.” Though she doesn’t elaborate any further, I can see that she has regained her composure since our last interaction. The newly lit cigarette in her mouth probably helped.

“I understand completely. Your behavior was reasonable enough, considering your status as beta.” I shift around to rest my head on a pillow, settling into a comfortable lounging position, tucking the ice pack into my waist under the covers, shivering slightly at the sudden chill.

A moment later, Betty chuckles. “Y’ know, Charlie,” she starts, “I’ll admit that shit with the omega was kinda funny, but you’re still gonna pay for that.”

“I fully intend to,” I reply with a yawn. “Just bring the wool after your date with Remmy. You’ll get your pillow.” My eyes glue themselves shut and my mind starts drifting away.

“It’s not a date.”

“Of course not.” Sleep finally claims me as a dream of patchwork and pillows takes over.

**Author's Note:**

> Credits? Yeah, credits, I think.
> 
> Zootopia belongs to Disney.
> 
> Credit for creating the Pack Street stories and its assortment of wonderful characters goes to the great TGWeaver.
> 
> The only credit I take is for writing the story "Patchwork and Pillows" which I created because I ran out of Pack Street Stories to read. Oh, I also made up Happy Harry. All I know about him is that he likes fire.
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you have the time. I've already edited some mistakes I've noticed, and I could use some feedback since this is the first fic I've written ever.  
Thanks for reading, folks.
> 
> Also, if I missed any more credits, please let me know so I don't get sued. Thanks again.


End file.
